


happy birthday to you

by ghostwilbur



Series: mindless days and sleepless nights [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Family Issues, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Mentioned Dave | Technoblade, Missing Persons, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Temporary Character Death, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo, TommyInnit Swears (Video Blogging RPF), damn tommy rlly said trauma thing aha, is tubbo dead? we'll never know, vent fic lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwilbur/pseuds/ghostwilbur
Summary: it's his best friend's birthday and tommy couldn't feel more like shit
Relationships: shaky technoblade bruh
Series: mindless days and sleepless nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013832
Comments: 21
Kudos: 260





	happy birthday to you

**Author's Note:**

> me, making it canon that tubbo is missing in this universe: 𝓵𝓮𝓽'𝓼 𝓪𝓭𝓭 𝓪 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓫𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓮, 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝔀𝓮

tommy's hair blew in the wind as he stared up at the old house. it was falling apart, the windows shattered and the wood being eaten away. the last time he had been here was before he had moved across town, and before his best friend left.

tommy could barely remember his real name, only the stupid nickname he had given the other as a child; tubbo.

he got off his bike, dropping it at the side of the road, and started towards the house.

going in was a stupid thing to do, but he entered anyway, knocking four times on the wall next to the door. like always. 

everything had changed. ever since wilbur started having these...episodes, the dynamic was off. techno was never home. phil was always stressed. wilbur was trapped in his own head. and tommy…he didn't know how he felt. 

he knew he hated school, and would rather be homeschooled than be teased and bullied by some of the older boys. he knew he wanted his brother to be okay again. he knew he missed tubbo. he knew he liked minecraft. he knew a lot of things, but how he felt generally wasn't one of them. 

making his way through the ruined living room, he picked his way around the broken furniture, going into the hallway and up the stairs. turning towards the last room, he reached into the ceiling and pulled on the string attached to the trapdoor. a ladder descended, the wood eaten through and wobbly. was it safe to go up? no. was tommy going up anyway? yep. 

he held the ladder with shaky hands, making his way into the dust riddled attic. there were discarded ice tea and coke cans still up here, a trash can filled to the brim with chip packets. the blankets were still here as well, but they were now moth eaten and wrecked.

plopping his backpack on the floor, he wiped some of the dust away from the floor and lied down, closing his eyes and sighing. this house held a lot of memories, but he didn't want to think about those and wanted to clear his head. 

memory was a nuisance for tommy. it constantly brought up things he wanted to forget. embarrassing, sad, or regretful, it didn't matter. but he had to live with them constantly. even when he screamed to block them out, they were always there when his voice wasn't. 

he remembers the first time he broke a bone. it was the day after, and he had finally gotten sick of the boys at school tormenting him. tubbo’s disappearance had reached the news, and one of the older boys let out a snide remark; something about driving all his friends away. and then tommy had brought his fist up, punching the boy straight in the face and breaking his nose. and then he was on top of the other, feverishly punching over and over again, while teachers screamed at him and people tried to grab him off.

phil had never looked more disappointed when he picked up the teen, with his broken and bruised knuckles and forming black eye. 

“ _ learn to ignore them,”  _ he had said. 

tommy laughed out loud, opening his eyes to look at the fading bruises on his hands. that was going well for him. 

he closed his eyes again, breathing in dusty air. this probably wasn't good for his already shitty lungs. 

“hey, dad.” he began, saying the words out loud to no one. “i know you're doing all you can right now, and it must be stressful to take care of three kids. one of which doesn't sleep, the other never shows up, and the last always getting into fights at school,” he paused, wondering why these things were. “i miss techno. i wish he would show up more often. and wilbur barely talks to me anymore. i know he’s busy with...whatever is going on with him at the moment, but it’s weird not to talk with him,” he paused, opening his eyes, and sneezed. 

“recently i've been having nightmares. more than i usually do, anyway. it’s always the same thing too. i just cant seem to get over it, and it sucks. i made wilbur not to tell anyone about them, but i feel like everyone knows anyway. and recently, i've woken up, and no one was there. he’s usually already in my room when i wake up. somehow. i don't fucking know how he does it. probably brothers intuition or some shit,” tommy laughed, sounding exhausted. nothing like his usual laugh. this one was quiet and sad. 

tommy started again, and it seemed like he was directing his words at someone else this time. “i never speak about this. not to my dad. not to the shitty school counsellor they make me see a whole year later. i always lie to her, because i know she snitches to dad. that's not cool. i mean, why tell the kids you won't tell anyone but tell their parents? that’s just fucked up! i mean, it’s totally just broken the trust. and i've gone off topic,” tommy sighed, running his hands over his face. “i’m stalling. im sitting alone in a dusty attic and i'm stalling while talking to myself,” he left his hands on his face.

“it’s like i'm scared to admit this even to myself. i haven't told anyone. this is so shit,” he laughed, choking out the words before coughing and clearing out his throat. 

“i miss you so fucking much.  _ so fucking  _ much,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tighter than they were before. “i told everyone i got over it. i haven't. i have not at all, and it’s affecting me so badly that i still have to catch myself up while talking because i'm so used to the fact that you’ll be next to me. and i don't know whether you're dead or missing!” tommy choked on his words, taking in a shaky breath. 

“i hope you're not dead. god, i pray every day you're still out there. and i'm not even religious,” tommy laughed, his voice thick. “i hope you're out there and you're safe. and you had to leave without saying goodbye because the fbi wanted to murder you or something. and faking your own death was easier than staying,” 

tommy took his hands away from his face, wiping his face on his shirt.

“it's your birthday today. i don't have a cake or anything. dad would ask me why i was buying a whole cake. it's stupid that your birthday is so close to christmas. i wonder how many people got you one present for the two,” tommy regretted not asking when tubbo was still here. “i fucking hate christmas. it's too happy and shit. and cold. wilbur acts like a moron when it’s cold.” wilbur always acted strange in the winter months. withdrawn and cryptic. “techno won't even be here for christmas, probably! god, this is all so fucking  _ stupid!”  _ tommy’s voice heightened, and he sat up, slamming his fist against the ground. “i'm so alone. i’m so fucking alone. why’d you have to fucking leave?!” he yelled, furiously wiping at his face. “this is all your fucking fault! maybe if you hadn't left me i wouldn't be so fucked up! you're such a shit best friend!” tommy covered his mouth, sobbing into his hand. “i didn't mean that, i didn’t mean that, i didn't mean that,” he repeated, breathing shakily. “i’m sorry.” ~~who was he apologizing to? the wall?~~

he sniffed, looking up and wiping his face on his shirt. tommy reached for his backpack and unzipped it, taking out a lighter and a packet of candles. he shoved the candle into a crack in the floor, flicking the lighter and lighting it. it was pathetic, the small dollar store candle flickering weakly. 

“happy birthday to you,” he started, his voice uneven and weak. he kept singing. “happy birthday to you. happy birthday dear tubbo, happy birthday to you,” he wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes. “hip hip, hooray.” 

a draft blew the candle out and tommy relit it. “god, i hate it here,” he slumped back, his arms flopping to the wood beside him. he was exhausted. “i hope you're doing well, tubbo,” he mumbled, and fell asleep in the coldness of the attic, the candle flickering brightly next to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment! they make my day <3


End file.
